


Waking, Dreaming

by FourCatProductions



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Agender Dovahkiin, Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Community: skyrimkinkmeme, Doomed Relationship, Forbidden Love, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Thalmor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 14:51:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10833522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourCatProductions/pseuds/FourCatProductions
Summary: Some things aren't meant to last.





	Waking, Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> For this prompt on the SKM: "I don't actually know the canon stance on this (if there even is one) but considering the Thalmor's obsession with achieving racial perfection (they practice eugenics, if I remember right), I imagine the regime doesn't take kindly to homosexuality. But as we all know, that's never stopped anyone from being who they are. What I'm getting at is two Thalmor agents of the same sex - can be oc, dragonborn, or npc's, whoever you like - having an affair. It can be a long, drawn out emotional thing or it could be just a hot one-night stand where they never speak of it again. Would prefer two men, but I am absolutely a-okay with some steamy femslash (it is February, after all)."
> 
> This was essentially just an excuse to write some self-indulgent angst with a touch of smut.

**one.**

The first time, they pretended it was an accident. It was easier that way. But there was nothing accidental about the way Estormo pressed his mouth to Ancano's. He thought maybe he was in a dream. 

 

**two.**

The second time it happened, they were supposed to be exchanging mission briefings. They met on the rocky shore, beneath the arches of the bridge that lead to the College. The sea was stormy and gray and there was no one around to see them. Estormo brought his paperwork, but he wouldn't look Ancano in the eyes. Ancano shuffled through the papers, but his heart wasn't in it, and he tucked them away after a minute. "Estormo. Look at me." Estormo still wouldn't look, so Ancano grabbed his chin and forced his head up. He was expecting to see shame, but he saw desire instead and it made his breath catch in his throat.

"I can't look at you," Estormo said, and wrapped his fingers tight around Ancano's wrist, trapping his pulse. "Otherwise I might - "

This time it was Ancano who kissed him. 

 

**three.**

They met whenever they could, sneaking moments in dark corners and underneath the bridge on the shore. In half a shipwrecked boat one time, after they slaughtered the bandits there. It was never enough. Each time, they parted thinking that this had to be the last time, only to come back together the next more voracious than ever.

There were too many things they couldn't say, so they communicated with touch. It was always clumsy and urgent, because neither of them had ever learned how to touch another living creature with anything resembling tenderness. But in some ways, that made it better. It reminded each of them that they weren't alone.

Estormo would fill his hands with Ancano's hair and bite his mouth and it meant _if they find us they will kill us_

Ancano would touch his hipbone, his ears, the skin over his heart and it meant _if they find us they will do worse than kill us_

Who else could understand? Who would even want to?

**four.**

They were on Ancano's bed. They were no longer pretending it was an accident. Estormo had his hands inside Ancano's robes. He wasn't allowed to take their clothes off. That would have made it too real. But he could map out every inch of that lean body with his hands until his mouth watered and his cock was hard and straining against his own robes. He ground his hips against Ancano's thigh and whined, frustrated. Ancano froze up and Estormo kissed his neck, tasted his skin and his sweat. Ancano shoved him away. "This is shameful," he said. He struggled to sit upright and started fastening his robes, and Estormo sat there and watched him, his hands clutched helplessly onto nothing. Ancano raked his long fingers through his hair, smoothing it back. He wouldn't look at Estormo. Like he'd done something wrong by being so open about his need for more. "This is disgusting. We cannot keep doing this."

"How?" Estormo heard himself ask. "How can this be disgusting when neither of us is disgusted?"

"Stop," Ancano warned.

Estormo climbed on top of him and kissed him, swallowing anything else he might have had to say. He ripped open Ancano's robes, bared him from the neck down. "Please let me," he begged.

Ancano didn't answer. He gripped Estormo's shoulders hard enough to bruise, and his skin tingled. For a moment, he thought Ancano might call upon the lightning and dissolve him into so much troublesome ash to be swept away. Go ahead, he thought, lips on Ancano's neck. I would rather die by your hand than on the rack at Northwatch Keep. But then the tingling softened and pulsed outward across his skin in waves and he moaned and came against Ancano's stomach, still fully clothed.

That was the only time they ever spoke of it.

 

**five.**

The new mage at the College is a spellsword, Ancano's most recent letter said. Expect trouble.

 

**six.**

"They have no idea what they've found. Those fools." His voice was alive like Estormo had never heard it before, eyes like flames and words crackling with electricity. He gripped Estormo's shoulders, not pulling him closer, but not pushing him away either. "No idea the kind of power they've placed at my feet."

"The Eye of Magnus," Estormo whispered. He still couldn't bring himself to believe it yet.

Ancano didn't smile, and he didn't laugh. But he laughed now, too loud, and his fingers dug into Estormo's skin. "The power to destroy the world," he said.

"What about the new mage? The spellsword?" Nothing was ever this simple, the rational parts of Estormo's mind insisted. You could brush happiness with your fingertips, like fruit that dangled just out of reach, but you could never fully grasp it. "You said they've been sniffing around, asking too many questions as of late. What do we do if they - "

"There is nothing they can do to stop me." The way he said it, Estormo almost believed him. "Do you hear me? Nothing."

Estormo raised his hand, cupped the back of Ancano's neck, and pulled him in for a kiss. "You're going to destroy the world," he said against Ancano's lips. "Tear it apart and remake it in your own image. Aren't you?"

Ancano shoved him down onto the bed.

 

**seven.**

Afterwards, tangled up in the sheets, Estormo brought it up again. He never could just let things be. "If they figure out what you're doing, they'll come after you."

"I know that." Ancano stared up at the ceiling. He was calmer now, but intensity still coiled beneath his skin like a steel trap. Estormo placed a hand on his chest, fingers splayed. He could feel Ancano's heart beating against his palm. In some ways, that was more intoxicating than the sex. "They don't concern me."

Maybe they should, Estormo wanted to say. He imagined the heartbeat beneath his hand slowing until it stopped, and the words shriveled in his throat. "Ancano - "

Ancano rolled on his side, and wound one long arm around Estormo's waist. He held Estormo's gaze. "The pieces are falling into place," he said. "Soon, I'll need you to go to Labyrinthian."

Labyrinthian. Even just the word made the hair on the back of his neck prickle. "You think they'll find out about the staff?"

"If they don't already, they'll know soon. I heard them asking around the other day about the Augur of Dunlaine." He pressed his nose against Estormo's cheek. "You know what you need to do."

"Yes."

"Magnus' power will be mine. And you." Ancano's lips found the curve of his ear, made him arch his neck and grip the sheets. "You will be right by my side." 

He didn't ask. He didn't have to. Estormo wrapped his arms around Ancano's shoulders and then they were moving together again, feverish. There were so many enchantments surrounding them that the air itched with magic - muffle spells, spells to hide them from view and dissuade passersby from looking into what appeared to be an empty room on the surface. Layers upon layers of magic to hide the only beautiful thing that had ever happened to him. 

"I want everyone to see," he gasped against Ancano's shoulder, and Ancano didn't say anything but Estormo knew he understood. In a world of their own making, there would be no need to hide. 

 

**eight.**

It was time, Ancano told him, and so he rode to Labyrinthian. The sky was the color of a bruise and the knot in his stomach grew bigger the closer he got, but he ignored it and carried on. He rode for three days and three nights until he reached the ruins. He left his horse in a small clearing nearby and walked the remaining distance on foot. 

Labyrinthian had once been a city - first prosperous, then home to the cult of the dragon priests. Now it was nothing but a sprawling tomb. But magic still lingered in the air, and it was no ordinary magic. He could feel it pressing against his own magica as he walked beneath the archways, like it was testing him, probing for weaknesses. He put his hood up and hurried on. There was a frost troll loping across the top of the incline, almost like it was patrolling the area. He dispatched it with a well-placed fireball and crept along the main walkway, following the directions Ancano had given him. "There are traps and dead ends everywhere," he'd said. "Stairs that lead to nowhere. Don't be fooled. Keep to the main path until you reach the Ceremonial Door." Another frost troll came charging at him from the interior of a crumbling tower, but it was from far away enough that he had plenty of time to prepare. He cast a rune in its path and watched it set itself on fire. 

He found the door with relative ease, at the top of the steps. It loomed over him like a cold iron moon, but he didn't touch it, didn't even try; there was no way to get in without the artifact Ancano had mentioned. He veered to the southeast and found the second entrance. It required no such artifact, and he pried it open with some effort and slipped inside. He wedged it shut again and bolted it securely behind him. The spellsword probably wouldn't have tried that entrance to begin with, but he wasn't going to make it easy for them. The room was sparse, with only a table and an unlocked, empty chest for decoration. A skeleton leaned against the wall, its jaw locked forever in a gruesome smile, picked clean by time and Auri-El knew what else. There was a locked gate at the top of the stairs, and beyond that lay the staff. The spellsword would have to come through here to escape with their prize, unless they wanted to backtrack all the way through the maze. He'd covered his tracks well enough, so there was no reason for them to suspect what was waiting for them at the end.

He took a seat at the table, and he visualized returning to Ancano with the staff. They would embrace in the ruins of the College, unafraid, and in turn, the world would learn to fear them.

He waited.

 

**nine.**

"So, Ancano was right all along."

"About what?"

"You. You are dangerous." He should have been frightened, but he couldn't muster it. He'd spent his entire life living in fear of being found out, inevitably marked and tainted as _different, unclean, perverse_. Joining the Thalmor's ranks was merely sleight of hand, a stay to his inevitable execution. He hadn't known he might glimpse a different path to a life unlived. "But I'll be taking that staff now. Nothing personal, but orders are orders."

Of course he lied. Of course it was personal. What was one more lie, piled on the heap? 

"I have no quarrel with you." The staff was strapped to the spellsword's back. Even from a distance, it pulsed with barely-contained magic. They held a sword in each hand, curved blades shining with enchantments, and they cocked their head to the side and watched him with calm dark eyes. Estormo raised his own hands, and flame danced across his fingertips. He knew how to call lightning and frost as well, but on this occasion, it felt right to use fire. Fire was cleansing, a sign of rebirth, just as he and Ancano would rise from the ashes and forge their own path.

"I'm afraid you do," he said.

They looked at him with something like pity. "You can stop this. Ancano is too far gone, but you can still walk away."

Estormo laughed. It bubbled up and spilled from his lips before he could stop it. There was no point in explaining that he had made his choice the first day he and Ancano met. He could no more walk away than he could fly, or breathe underwater without magic, and the flames grew in his hands, licking at his wrists. They raised their swords.

"Then you die," they said, voice quiet. "For his choices, and your own."

_Ancano's heartbeat stopping beneath his palm._

Estormo screamed. His hands overflowed with fire, spilling from between his fingers, and he screamed and screamed and screamed -

 

**ten.**

He had to have known, all along. That he had little hope of defeating a warrior who'd slain a dragon priest and emerged unscathed. But he still fought until his magic ran out, until his hands were ruined and his blood ran from what felt like a thousand cuts and he could no longer stand. He would not have it said that he didn't fight until the bitter end. The spellsword advanced on him. The air was thick with ash that had once been the table and chest, left in the room to rot. He wondered if Ancano would come to find his body, if he was able. 

Without the Thalmor, they never would have met.

Without the Thalmor, they could have had everything.

What more can you take from me, he thought as the blades came closer, shining like a beacon through the ash. What more can you take that they have not already taken.

He lay on the scorched stone and stared up into Labyrinthian's depths and his entire body sang with pain and one of the blades touched his neck. It was a kinder death than what he was owed. His raw, scorched fingers twitched towards the sky.

I wish, he thought. 

I wish I could see the stars.

 

**end.**

Ancano's last thoughts were of Estormo's lips on his. 

He thought maybe he was in a dream.


End file.
